


What's in a Name?

by Genius_626



Series: Joseph Moore stories [2]
Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Adopted Son, Angst, Father Figure, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Joseph is 14 years old, Men crying/bonding, mentions of child abuse/childhood trauma, self worth issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genius_626/pseuds/Genius_626
Summary: Joseph has made a habit of sneaking out in the night to see his friends on the other side of town. He thinks that John is unaware of this.





	What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> My fanon timeline:
> 
> 1896: Joseph (age 12) physically recovers from the kidnapping and is sponsored by John to be admitted into Kreizler's Institute. 
> 
> 1896-1898: Joseph is seen to by Kriezler. They address the traumatic life-threatening kidnapping, as well the trauma and lasting effects of the constant sexual abuse of his former livelihood.
> 
> 1898: John officially adopts Joseph (age 14) and takes him in. 
> 
> 1899: (The events of this story take place.)
> 
> 1900: Joseph and John unintentionally encounter Joseph's biological father. (The events of "Father and Son" take place)
> 
> Author's note:
> 
> I think about Joseph's character a lot, especially in the context of the TV canon since they chose to keep him alive. So this is the product of my overthinking. I'm not a psychologist by any means, so I doubt my handling of such a sensitive subject/character accurately depicts the deep and real feelings of a young person recovering from this kind of trauma, but I'm trying my best and I hope you find it in-character/in line with canon/thoughtful. Comments on this would be very much appreciated.

At age fourteen, Joseph Moore became the newest member of old Mrs. Moore's household, not to mention the Moore family itself. The young man had just six months ago been released from Kreizler's Institute and adopted by John Schuyler Moore, the crime journalist and estranged heir to the Moore estate. 

Joseph had yet to get used to his new name, _Moore_. He'd also yet to get used to the niceties of high society and was no stranger to trouble. 

The trouble he got himself into was usually due to his naivety and outspokenness because, in his eyes, upper-crust society often relied on tedious unspoken rules and boring, empty banter. On his best days, he was spirited, and even his adopted father had to laugh and agree with his ruthfully honest opinions of rich people and their mannerisms. John, still the outcast among his family--and misunderstood even further for having adopted a troubled boy from the street, and without a wife at that--often encouraged Joseph's behavior, happy to see the boy so joyfully mucking about. Mrs. Moore scolded Joseph more often than John did, though she did it out of tough love, having quickly embraced him, just like she'd embraced John. 

Joseph had been greeted into the family quite nicely, with John bringing him into his grandmother's house, Sara along with them. Mrs. Moore gave him a tour of the house before setting out biscuits and tea, the most delicious he'd ever had in his life. 

It had been the next day where things were not so nice. 

 

_Six months ago_

 

John's parents arrived sometime after breakfast, quite unannounced, though Mrs. Moore had to admit, she'd invited them.

"You all haven't spoken in quite some time." Mrs. Moore said. "So much has changed, I thought, John, that you'd be unrecognizable to your own parents."

John made a point to see his mother at least once a year, with monthly letters sent to prove to her that he was indeed alive. Admittedly, he'd been very busy as of late and hadn't updated her in quite a while. And his father on the other hand, well, John had no idea what he knew, they hadn't spoken in more than five years.

"You look well, my boy!" John's mother said, taking his hands and squeezing them warmly. Her cadence was happy, her smile infectious, though he could very well say the opposite of his father. 

"Your grandmother told us everything." John's father said, his disapproval written all over his face. "I was a fool to think that one day your life decisions would make any semblance of sense."

"Please!" John's mother said. "You haven't even met the boy."

"The urchin?" John's father replied angrily. "And sick enough to be seen by an _alienist_?" He turned to John. "What do you plan to do with him? What on earth do you expect of such a child? No boarding school would ever allow him, and no respectable employer would ever think to actually reconsider his pedigree."

"I expect nothing from him." John heard himself say, only half believing that his father was even in front of him. It was so surreal. "I only wish to give him a good life. You have no idea the hardships he's gone through."

"And you think you do?" John father's countered. "You think you and your college pals can make the world a better place? By taking in horrible brats and giving them money they haven't earned?"

All the while, Joseph hid behind the ornate stairwell, watching as the family bickered in the hallway, the front door still open, the cold breeze rolling in. 

"You think that this will make you a saint." John's father continued to growl. "You think that this boy will replace your brother."

"How could you say that? How could you even think it!" John's mother gaped. "Our son is taking responsibility, he's found a new purpose in providing. Haven't you, John?"

John could barely speak, he was so overwhelmed. 

"I did it because it was the right thing to do." John said. 

John's father stared at him for a long moment before turning to leave. "You're a lost cause."

John felt a pang at his heart, yet another jab from the person he'd only ever wanted to impress. But it didn't matter, not anymore. As his mother and grandmother tried to go after the disgruntled old man, John looked back to see Joseph at the staircase. He sighed heavily and walked to the bottom of the stairs.

"What a mess I've brought you into," John said. "I don't blame you if you resent me for it."

Joseph shook his head. "Don't think I haven't seen worse."

They both smiled, oddly comforted by looking back and seeing that yes, things are better now, even if some things aren't. 

"Seeing that we have company today," Joseph said, "Does that mean I can skip my English lesson?"

John laughed. "Only if you tell my mother how good a role model I am."

"Anything to get out of school," Joseph replied, coming down the stairs and making his way to the parlor, seeing the Moore women retreating to the house without Mr. Moore. 

Throughout that day, Joseph made quite the impression on John's mother, earning her adoration after reading to her from his middle-grade school books. Despite his occasional lack of decorum, John's mother was quickly smitten by the boy and his wit. Before she left, she made Joseph promise to write her letters to practice his handwriting. She also wished John luck, raising a boy in his teens would be the greatest challenge of his life. 

 

_Present day_

 

Joseph looked about his room, something that had become so normal over the last six months that he could move about it in the complete darkness without tripping over anything. He often thought about how his new normal was so drastically different from his old life _. His old life_ , that's what they'd come to name it, as if he were a different person now; as if the new surname tacked onto his Christian name made him someone else. It almost felt like having a girl name again--it made him a different person when he used that name. Or at least, it was supposed to. 

Opening the window, Joseph looked around to see if the coast was clear. Without a soul watching him, he climbed onto the window sill and lunged for the nearby Sycamore, making his way down it. 

At least, he thought he wasn't being watched. 

Like clockwork, John was awake and in the kitchen, watching from the window as Joseph ran across the garden and into the empty street. 

The first time John had caught Joseph sneaking out had been five months ago, on a night just like this. John had gone to Joseph's room and found it empty, and for minutes that stretched into hours, he wondered what he'd done wrong. The next morning, he'd been relieved to see both his grandmother and Joseph bickering about whether or not blueberries belonged on flapjacks. 

It seemed Joseph did this every other week or so, but John had never brought it up, and so it was never discussed between them. However, he did bring it up to Kreizler. 

 

_Five months ago_

 

“Do you think he misses his old life?” John had asked his friend.

“No.” Kreizler had said definitively. “But what he might be missing is the comfort of living without so much uncertainty. In his old life, as horrid as it was, there was a fair amount of predictability that he counted on for survival. Now, no longer living to serve a master with strict rules, or even within the structure of the institution, he has the heavy task of adjusting to upper-class society and becoming someone he never thought he might become.”

"Are you saying I did the wrong thing in adopting him? That I should have let him go to the orphanage, I should have let him stay in the brothels--"

"You put words in my mouth. _Listen to me_." Laszlo said sternly. "It will take Joseph some time to get used to his new environment. Just as it will take you some time to adjust to your new role in life."

John had the strong urge to make himself a drink, but refrained. "I just want to know if he's alright. I want to know if he's safe. I can't lose him again."

Laszlo gripped John's shoulder then. "I see you're already getting used to the role."

 

_Present day_

 

With his rougher clothes scuffed and his hand-me-down cap, Joseph disappeared into the shadows, heading down from the cleaner streets and into a world he knew so much more intimately.

His trips to the underworld of his childhood sometimes lasted all through the night. he spent these nights visiting his friends, using his small allowance to buy them egg creams and sometimes whole meals. The smoky air of the dingy, rundown streets felt familiar, and eerily, it was almost comforting. His memories of this part of town were war-torn in his mind; he’d suffered greatly here, but he’d made a life here. Once, in another life, it had been his home.

"They still makin' you read and stuff?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, o' course," Joseph said. "It just keeps getting harder and harder."

"I don't get doin' that fancier stuff, I can read just what I gotta read." He glanced at the menu in his hands. "Egg-cream. Whipped-cream. Ice-cream. There, that's all the important stuff."

They all laughed. jack and Syd then ordered their desserts, and Joseph handed over the money to the shopkeeper. 

"So what else do they teach you, how to open a bank account and swim in heaps of your own money?" Syd asked. "I bet you all rich people do that if they got a vault full o' cash. I would."

"Grandmother recently taught me the difference between the salad fork and the meal fork," Joseph said. "I even got in trouble at dinner for using the wrong fork! It's so stupid!"

They all laughed again.

"You got a grandma, but no ma?"

"Yeah." Joseph shrugged. "John ain't married, I think the girls uptown think he's crazy or somethin'."

"He's crazy alright," Jack said. "Or he's into boys."

"Still crazy," Syd said. 

"He's not like that," Joseph said, a bit defensively. "He saved my life, remember? Yours too."

"Yeah, yeah." Jack said. "And then he made you go to that school forever, and now you live with him." 

Joseph didn't comment, unsure of how to describe the trauma of being kidnapped and nearly killed. He'd needed the Institute two years ago, and he liked John, but they might never understand that.

Therapy with Dr. Kriezler had awoken a new awareness of his own pain, and so even though the smell of smoke was not an indecent reminder of his time here, he did so often shudder at most everything else. His friends were still his friends, however, and he dared not tell them how to live their lives, especially when he had very little power to change anything for them.

He often felt like half a person; he was either the prim and proper friend of the teenage prostitutes, or he was the street urchin of the Moore house, a constant and unfortunate reminder of the dirty, evil things people do to children in the dark.

He felt broken, split in two, without an identity. His heart lied not with the people who had abused him in his childhood, and despite the kindness of the Moore family, their wealth made it difficult to understand their way of life. Only in the shadows did he feel comfortable, only in between these worlds was there some solace. What life could he ever hope to live? What future lied before him?

...

In the small hours of the morning, Joseph came back up to the Moore house. After a full night out with his oldest friends, he was exhausted, maybe too exhausted to climb back up to his room. Upon reaching the porch steps, he noticed candlelight glowing through a first story window. Joseph held his breath as he climbed up the steps. The front door was unlocked, so he resigned himself to the inevitable confrontation. Stepping over the threshold, he followed his feet and found John in the parlor.

John was sat in his usual chair reading, still in his night clothes, bags under his eyes. Without looking up, he said;

“Did you have a fun night out?”

Joseph smirked and dropped his bag down on the floor. “It was alright.”

John looked up and put his book down on the coffee table. “Sit, you look tired.”

Joseph didn’t argue, and so he sat opposite John on the sofa. They sat in companionable silence for some time.

“I don’t want to worry, but I do,” John said at last. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

Joseph found himself nodding.

“You don’t have to sneak out anymore, you can just tell me where you’re going.” John added. "Of course I don't know for sure, but I suspect you go out to socialize."

“I…I thought you might disapprove,” Joseph answered.

“I might have,” John said. “Some months ago, I might have, out of concern, mostly.” He paused. “But you realize that even with Dury gone, children are still murdered on that side of town.”

“Murders happen everywhere,” Joseph said. “If you’ve taught me anything, it’s that no matter where you are, the world is a monstrous place.”

There was a heavy silence between them. 

“Is that all I’ve taught you?” John asked sincerely.

Joseph hesitated, unsure of what to say, or how they’d gotten here. They stared at each other for a long moment, and before Joseph could say anything, John stood up. The boy thought that he might walk off and leave him there, but the older man sat next to him on the couch instead. He stared into the flickering candlelight, collecting his thoughts. Then he spoke;

“I didn't stay up all night to argue with you.” He said. “I only want to understand why you go back there, and if you’re safe, and if you’re happy here.” He paused. “But if you don’t want to share any of that with me, I won’t make you.”

Joseph looked away, having not the words to answer. His feelings of inadequacy were plain to himself, but if they reached the ears of another, it meant that he truly was broken. And worse yet, he didn’t think he even could explain his feelings.

“I don’t think anyone could understand.” Joseph finally said.

John placed a gentle hand on Joseph’s shoulder, sensing the building tension in the boy’s posture. John didn’t say a word, but his presence spoke volumes. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Joseph felt the sting of tears at his eyes, and he desperately kept them from spilling onto his face.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” He whispered, speaking through troubled breaths. “I don’t know myself here, but I don’t know myself there, either. I’m not sure what I am. And my name...”

"Your name?" John repeated curiously.

"My name never has been mine, has it?" Joseph said. "I wasn't Bernadette, and now, I'm not really a Moore, am I?" He burst into tears. "I'm not anyone, I don't belong anywhere, do I?"

John moved to embrace Joseph. Though the boy was growing, John understood that he still needed this kind of affection and support. Kreizler had warned him of this. Joseph was a strong person, but he was still emotionally scarred, and still just a child. John hadn't seen him this upset since he woke up at the hospital two years ago. 

For a moment, John wondered what his own father might think, seeing them both like this. But then he realized, he didn't care.

When the sobbing died down, John still held him. He let go briefly to wipe away the tears in his own eyes. When Joseph's breathing returned to normal, John spoke;

"You're a Moore if you want to be," John answered. "You live in this house, and you're my responsibility, so you're a Moore. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone. Not me, and not even to yourself." John paused. "Life might always be hard for you, but you have a home here if you want it." 

Joseph wiped his face with his sleeve. He was still beside himself, but he felt slightly better. 

"What's in a name, anyhow?" John said. "What's important is that you're you, with or without a name. You know that. I know you do."

Joseph looked up at John, but before he could say anything, he yawned.

"Daylight's nearly upon us." John said, seeing the first traces of the sun shine through the thin window curtains. "You're probably bone tired. Come on."

John took the candle and they both made it up the stairs. 

"Try to get some sleep." John said, ruffling Joseph's curly hair. "You can sleep in. No sense in making you slip up with grandmother's etiquette lessons."

Joseph turned towards his room, but didn't walk in. 

"I used to be so sure of myself." Joseph said, his voice cracking. "Everything's changing."

"Including your voice." John said, gently guiding Joseph to bed.

The boy was trudged forward like the undead. He fell onto the mattress and was asleep in seconds. John took the boy's shoes off and covered him with the blanket at the foot of the bed. Exiting the room, he closed the door silently and was met by his grandmother, standing in the hall looking like a pale phantom. 

"You look like death." She quipped. 

"I'm close to it, I'm sure." John said. "If parenting doesn't kill me, nothing will."

His grandmother smiled and laughed before retreating to her room. John was annoyingly awake, but was sure he would fall asleep during lunch. Resigned to this fate, he went downstairs to continue his reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all the jumping back and forth, hope it wasn't too annoying. 
> 
> Also, I made up Joseph's friend's names because I can. 
> 
> As you can see, I'm telling the story backward (I didn't plan this, it just sort of happened). The next story--whenever I get the time to write it--will get into the immediate aftermath of Dury's death, all the way to the day Joseph is officially adopted.


End file.
